The Adventure of Finding a Church

We have been looking for a church home for about how many years now?  I think about 5, maybe more.  We've been to them all and seen them all, and I'm far too jaded and liberal to join one.  I should start a blog on the adventures of being raised in the church of Christ.  That, my friends, would be a very interesting read.    Romance, drama, crime, death, scandal, abuse...it would meet all the criteria for a best-seller.

Anyways, so we went to this church a few months back.  We had been there several times a few years ago and really liked it.  I, however, was not in a good place at the time, and as much as I wanted to find a church family, I also wanted to distance myself from anything that could hurt me.  I had emailed with the pastor about his thoughts on sexual abuse and the church, and how their church prevents that from happening, yada yada.  It probably was not a particularly nice exchange of emails, as I was going through an irrational time in my life.  This church ended up moving locations and was now pretty close to us.  My New Year's Resolution was to find a church, so off we went.

The sermon (which I would normally care very little about) spoke straight to me.  I honestly don't even remember what was said, just that it felt as if God was speaking directly to me.  The worship was awesome, and Mark and I both felt the Holy Spirit in that place, which is a rare occurrence these days.  They were talking about small groups, and everyone was signing up for one that day.  I flipped through the bulletin (is there a more modern name for this nowadays?) and saw that there was a small group meeting in our neighborhood.  It's a sign!  So before I could change my mind, I rushed over to the information table to get more information.  As I looked at the sign-up sheet for the small group in our neighborhood, I saw that it was being held in a home on our street, one block over.  AND there was childcare provided.

Okay, now I knew it was a sign.  I was so excited, so I started signing us up.  There was a man behind the table and he asked what I was doing.  I was so smiley and excited and I said, ''I'm signing up for a group!"

"I see that.  But you are putting several names on one line."

"Yeah, I'm putting my family's names down, too."

"But you can't do that.  There is not enough room.  You cannot save spaces for other people.  This is a popular group and it is almost full."

"Well I am putting my husband and kids' names down.  Can't I do that?"

"You would need to put one name per line.  How many of you are there."

"Four.  Me, my husband, and two boys."

"Ma'am, there are only three spots left.  I'm sorry, but this group is full."

"So I can't sign up even though my boys will technically not be part of the group?"

"Look, you need to erase your name and start over."

This man was getting so frustrated with me, and I couldn't understand why.  I scratched out our names, and he got even more frustrated.  Now lets back up.   It took all the guts I could muster just to walk into this building and stay through the entire thing, then to come over and try to sign up for a group, and now I am getting the third degree from you because why?!

So I politely said, "Nevermind.  Thank you for your help," and walked away while he continued to call after me, still frustrated.  I spotted the boys and grabbed them to make a beeline for the exit.  Then...

"Hey, do I know you guys?"

Crap.  It's the pastor himself.

First time here, Mark tells him.

"Except for when we came several times 5 years ago."  I just had to open my big mouth.  "I emailed you a bunch back then." 

"Oh.  Um, okay.  Well, I get a lot of emails."

"It was about sexual abuse.  In the church.  Pretty messed up."  This is why I am supposed to keep my mouth shut when we check out churches.  I sound like a freak.

"Okay.  Ummm..."

"I was probably pretty rude.  I don't remember.  Bad time in my life.  Sorry about that.  Anyways..."

And then the pastor proceeded to refer me to a counselor who he thought I could probably really benefit from seeing.  No kidding.

So the next day, the pastor calls me unexpectedly and awkwardly tells me that some people were upset about  a possible misunderstanding at the small group booth yesterday.  He said that we can join the group, and it is actually the one he is leading.  Not to mention, the man behind the booth was his FATHER!!!  I apologized and tried to explain why I changed my mind about joining the group, but of course it came out weird and at one point I blurted something about being pretty messed up.  WHAT?!  After some awkward silence, the pastor tells me he should probably just call my husband and talk to him.  For the love, has this ever happened to you?  I felt like the guy from Meet the Parents, where he just keeps saying the wrong thing.  I'm really not as weird as I sound sometimes, just awkward.

We  have been going to the church for several weeks now.  Izaiah really likes it, and the teachers that work with him in children's church have been really great.  Mark has given me the lecture about not building up my walls, so I'm trying reeeaallly hard.  I will blog about updates.  It is a very interesting experience, finding a church.  I turn into this weird, awkward, hardened person at church.  I hate it.  We are not looking for religion, or a place that thinks like us, looks like us, or places any emphasis on wealth, healthy, prosperity, or hell, fire, and brimstone.  We ARE, however, looking for a place where we can live in community with others and do life together.  We want to find people who are authentic, and who we can be vulnerable with, and who love Jesus and not religion.  Hopefully we have found it.  We're not looking for perfect.  We're looking for Real.

Pray for our journey to finding the right place for us.  We have friends we do "church" with (for when two or more are gathered in His name...) but would really like to connect on a deeper level with those who are seeking God's heart.  We want our boys to have good role models that exist outside of my family.  We are desperate for a safe place for them, and for us.

I keep listening to this song, and the words stick out so boldly to me....

And though my innocence was taken

not everything is lost,

not eveything is lost. 

Your love is enough to light up the darkness

It's Your love, Your love

All I ever needed is Your love

I'm so ready to live like I believed this were true.  Breaking down the walls, boldly stepping into the light unafraid,

Moving forward....

Hospitalization, Take 2

It has been a long month.  Izaiah, my sweet baby Izaiah, was having such a hard time.  His aggression was escalating and he was having tantrums several times a day.  Tantrums, for Izaiah, look like this: punching, kicking, biting, screaming, cursing, and coming at you like a rabid dog.  This might have been manageable, except for the fact that Izaiah is stronger and more agile than a ninja.  No exaggeration.   And at some point he became stronger than us.  It would take me, Mark, and Dre working together to get him off of me.  He would throw things and shatter glass, without any regard as to how it could harm him, and at the drop of a hat, he would use whatever happened to be in his line of sight as a weapon.   If he would become angry in the car, we’d just better hope we could pull over quickly because he would start attacking whomever was driving or start throwing objects  at them. 

It got to the point where he started doing it at school, too.  When he didn’t get his way one day, he attacked the principal, punched her in the face, kicked her several times in the face, knocked over a bookshelf in her office, broke things on her desk, and then tried to run out of the building, so they had to call a Code Red.  It took 4 teachers holding him and he still managed to get away.  He got suspended for a day…his very first suspension, can you believe it?  Every waking moment he would be screaming and running around.  And not like a typical hyper boy, but like a kid that’s on fire.  He’s been like this many times before, but this time he is bigger. 

His doctor had him on meds that were a last resort.  He had tried a combination of everything before.  The only option left was to admit him to a psych unit and start over in finding a medication that would work for him.  We have sworn on everything that we would not hospitalize him again after what happened the last time.  It was never an option in our minds.  His therapist saw him and made a good point, though.  She said that if he seriously harmed someone, that would be much more traumatic for him in the long run than being hospitalized for a few weeks.  We were deathly afraid of him hurting us, himself, or someone else and knew that would be the inevitable outcome if things continued the way they had been going.

We cried all night long once we decided to admit him the next day.  We took him to the E.R. at Children’s and were there for 13 hours.  They finally found a place for him, but it was at St. Vincent DePaul, and I did not know much about them.  I threw a mom fit, and refused to allow him to go anywhere but two places I was familiar with.  We asked if Mark could stay with him, at least during the day. 

No.

We asked if we could drive him there.

No.  They thought he needed to be transported by ambulance since he was such a safety risk. 

He was admitted on a Tuesday evening, and we were told we could expect him to be there close to a month.  I was literally sick over it.  We were allowed to see him for 30 minutes a day, between 6 and 7 in the evening.  Dre was not allowed to come since he’s under 18.  Izaiah was so mad at us that first night.  We held him and prayed, and he finally fell asleep on Mark.  We never missed a night, but it was so hard seeing him.  Little kids should never have to stay in this type of setting without their mommy, never never never.

The nurses were great, and were so patient when we would call six times a shift to check on him.  A classmate of mine from grad school was the social worker on Izaiah’s unit, come to find out, which definitely eased our minds some.  After ten days, the psychiatrist discharged him with a new cocktail of meds.  He has been home for a week and a half now.  Initially he did really well, but he has really struggled at times, almost to the point where we have contemplated re-admitting him.  This is the hardest thing in the world for a parent.  I feel like an awful mother, and the rational side of me cannot be convinced that I have not failed.  He is the most precious thing in the world to me, and I love him with the love of a thousand Mother Teresa’s, but I am also so terrified of him.  Please please please be praying for us.  Particularly for strength for Mark and I, and for peace and rest and comfort for my baby Izaiah.  

Each Child

Each Campaign from The Loud Cloud on Vimeo.


(Stolen from Kym - thanks Kym!)

Too Much Thinking!

I'm up late and struggling with forgiveness. This is nothing new. I have come so far with it, and yet feel like I have millions of miles to go. I badly wish not to be hypocritical or inauthentic, yet try as I might I cannot get over things of the past like it seems everyone else in this world can. It's this heavy set of bricks on my chest, and currently the bricks are wet.

Fear. I try so hard to elude it. Fear controls my life if I let it. I really don't want to let it. How do you keep yourself and your family safe from potential pain or harm if you fully forgive, and forgive without another's repentance?

I try to remember that people were horrible to Jesus, too. Horrible. Mean, selfish, unforgiving. Liars. Jesus's mission was not to expose them, as mine would have been. He loved them regardless. He was not consumed when people spoke hateful things about him, when he suffered the consequences of others' untruth. Believe it or not, I try soooooooo hard to model that, and am very sadly unsuccessful most times. I would like to get to a place where I am content in not making everyone aware of the pain I have seen and experienced. It is just this huge sense of responsibility to justice that I feel.  I feel that if I do not use my experiences for change, in whatever form, the experience is worthless, and I am a victim. I am learning how to live happily despite constant reminders of nightmares I have lived through.  What a journey!  Bear with me.  I, too, am imperfect, just trying to find my way to God's heart.

Christmas

We spent Christmas in Arkansas spending time with my family.  Izaiah had a blast, as did Dre!  We did a whole lot of nothing, which is very nice, I must admit.  Ezra stayed for an extended visit.  She and Izaiah are not meshing well, and we need a break!

I am going back on my diet, and will surely amaze you with how much I whittle down these next months.  I lost 35 pounds last year, and am determined to lose another 20.  It wasn't that hard the first time, so I don't expect it to be this time, either.  Mark promised that if I make it to my goal weight, he will take me on a lavish vacation.  Sweet!  Right now New York is topping my list.  If we weren't already so settled, we would move to the east coast in a heartbeat.

I would like to share an excerpt from a book I have been reading.  It fits with my view of Jesus:

          He was like nothing anyone had ever seen.

          Among a people that smugly shunned
          the sick and ill,

                    Jesus stopped,
                    looked beggars in the eyes,
                    touched lepers,
                    and brought dignity to the helpless and alone.

Jesus walked..

          Jesus was a man with dirty feet.

          As Jesus led his twelve closest followers
          they would walk along the dirt roads together.
  
                    They went to parties together.
                    They ate meals together.
                    They worked together.
          Jesus walked as a human among humans,
          brushed elbows with politicians and outcasts,
                    went to parties with
                    sinners and criminals,
                              and embraced as his own family
                              those he met on the street.
          Jesus floated on no pristine clouds.
 
          Jesus was no aloof elitist.

          Jesus was no odd hermit.

          He preferred the world of

          dirt and friends and handshakes.

                   He embraced this relational life on earth
                   more passionately than anyone ever had.